Departure
by Viridian
Summary: In the moment of deepest grief, it seems like the sun will never rise again. A oneshot look at the day Tohru's mother died.


This story is based on Yuki's flashback in episode 15. I'm sorry if I do not do the scene justice.  
  
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A bird chirped daintily on a nearby bough, chattering of nests and mates and the freedom of an endless sky. A gentle breeze wafted through the open windows, bringing in the scent of the afternoon sun and warm grass. Papers rustled softly, breaking the monotonous sound of scratching pencils. Tohru smiled to herself as her bangs fluttered ever so lightly at the air's tender, inviting caress. She stole a sideways glance out the window - truly, it was the best of summer days. Not that other summer days weren't as good; no, not at all. But today, like all other today's, was really the best of days.  
  
The classroom door slid open with a sudden thud. Some of the students jumped in surprise and a few metallic pencil cases could be heard clattering sharply against the floor. A teacher stood there stiffly for a moment, his eyes darting uncomfortably from student to student. His brow was furrowed and his expression strained.  
  
He opened his mouth then and said, abruptly, "Honda-san."  
  
His voice caught in his throat, and his words came out in a dry, rasping sound. "A word with you, please."  
  
Tohru leapt out of her seat immediately. "Eh? Umm, yes, sir!"  
  
Saki and Arisa eyed her anxiously as she made her way to the door.  
  
"This feeling," Saki whispered, "He does not have good news."  
  
Arisa fidgeted. One hand twirled a pencil nervously. A fist clenched. Damn it, that stray hair is irritating. She snatched the errant strand back with a jerk. Saki threw her a glance, noting the girl's growing anxiety. Noting her own, as well, although at times like these, her usual placid expression was a reassuring shell to mask the turmoil inside. Perhaps not for long this time, she thought to herself. Not when the sweet, gentle Tohru was involved.  
  
***  
  
"Yes, sir?" asked Tohru once she stepped out of the classroom.  
  
"Come with me now. Your mother," The teacher hesitated as a pair of large, doe-like eyes gazed up at him. Oh why did he have to be the one to do this? He could already see those eyes crinkling slightly with worry. His chest constricted painfully; he did not want to see them fill up with tears. 'Oh,' he thought desperately, 'I did not become a teacher to see children cry.'  
  
"She's been . . . in an accident."  
  
Suddenly, words broke out in a torrent. "You must hurry to the hospital. Come with me now. I'll drive you over. Tell you the details on the way." He turned and hurried down the hall.  
  
Tohru's eyes widened in shock. Mother? In an accident? How could that be? She could feel her heart sinking, sinking, as she stood there on that lovely summer day, the best of days. And yet, the warm breeze seemed frigid to her now, and she wondered why the birds had abandoned her.  
  
Her thoughts were a blur as she followed the teacher down the hall. She tried to push all negative thoughts from her mind. 'Surely mother . . . mother would be alright? Many people got into accidents. She might have fallen down the stairs, perhaps? Ah, she might have fractured her hip or something. I will have to take very good care of her then. I'll make her favourite foods. Actually, this would even be a good time for her to rest . . . she has been working so hard for my sake.'  
  
Her thoughts whirled faster, fighting to beat down the panic that was pounding against her chest and the cold, clammy chill that gripped her heart. Her mind grasped frantically at random strands of thought. 'I should probably put in some more hours in my part-time job. Mother probably won't be able to go to work for a while. Maybe she'll enjoy me reading stories to her at bedtime?'  
  
She felt a tender touch on her shoulder.  
  
"Hana-chan? And Uo-chan? What are you doing here?"  
  
"Looking after you," Arisa replied gruffly, her eyes belying her tenseness and concern, "Really, running off like that. One would think . . ." Her voice died away awkwardly.  
  
"Is something wrong . . ." Saki's eyes narrowed, "With Kyoko-san?"  
  
The tears that had been tickling at the edges of Tohru's eyes sudden brimmed over. At the mention of her mother's name, she could feel waves of dread surging, overwhelming her, battering against the hopelessly fragile shield of optimism she had built, shattering it to pieces and laying bare her soul.  
  
Saki and Arisa embraced her tightly. For a moment, there was no need for words.  
  
Saki stepped back and urged, "Let's hurry, Tohru-kun."  
  
***  
  
The room Tohru's mother was in was a peaceful one. A vase with flowers adorned a nearby dresser and lent a splash of colour to the lifeless white of the hospital ward. Half-opened curtains fluttered, whispering of the joys and sorrows carried on the back of the winds. Suddenly, the door snapped open, and three girls stood framed by the doorway.  
  
Tohru found herself unable to move. Her legs, which had run so tirelessly up too many flights of stairs, refused to take a further step, and her heart, which drove her so mercilessly, faltered. She did not want to see. She did not want to see this, and confirm the truth of it all. Perhaps, if she closed the door again, she could still dream of her mother strolling into the living room with a broad grin on her face, of the fond tousling of her hair that her mother would give in greeting, of the hearty laughter and banter that would ensue at the dinner table.  
  
Somewhere, a cloud drifted away from the sun. Somehow, a gust of wind breathed a dance into the curtains. And in the flickering of light and shadow, beyond the grasp of life and death, it almost seemed like her mother smiled.  
  
***  
  
"She did not survive long after the accident," the doctor said quietly to Arisa and Saki. "Her body was badly mangled. She so wished to see her daughter's face one last time. I am sorry."  
  
Still staring at Tohru, Saki sighed sorrowfully, "She looks at peace."  
  
"She is at peace," Arisa replied, "Tohru is a strong, just like Kyoko-san. I'm sure Kyoko-san had faith in her."  
  
"And us. She knows we will be with Tohru-kun."  
  
"Yes," Arisa managed bitterly in a broken voice. Her hand gripped the doorframe in a fierce, angry grip. At a time like this, when Tohru needed her most, why did she not know the right words to say? Why could she only watch and feel the stinging in her eyes, as Tohru rushed to her mother's bedside in tears, throwing herself against those oh-so-starkly white sheets, gripping those cold, unfeeling hands, shoulders heaving as her entire world crumbled around her. Kyoko-san's trust . . . Kyoko-san's confident smile . . . Kyoko-san's memory . . . A stray tear made its way down her face, unheeded.  
  
***  
  
In the crimson blaze of the dying sun, her mother's face looked serene. She could feel the sun's rays on the back of her head as she buried her face in the sheets. It did not have the comforting warmth of the afternoon sun. It was dying. But it would rise again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. Yet today, and in the tomorrow that would soon be today, and all the today's that the future held, that day seemed like it would never come. 


End file.
